


Ten Thousand Days

by missingparentheses



Category: Rhett & Link
Genre: Epistolary, Gen, Tropetastic Tuesday
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-08
Updated: 2017-06-08
Packaged: 2018-11-11 10:15:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11146368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missingparentheses/pseuds/missingparentheses
Summary: Link writes to Rhett, reflecting on their lives together.





	Ten Thousand Days

**Author's Note:**

> Profound thanks to my ever-patient betas, [loudspeakr](http://archiveofourown.org/users/loudspeakr/works) and [FamousWolf](http://archiveofourown.org/users/FamousWolf/works).
> 
> Written for Tropetastic Tuesday #14. Prompt: Epistolary

_Dear Rhett,_

_It’s summer, so school’s out. No one cares too much about a grown man on a swing at an elementary school playground in the summer. If school were in session they’d probably call the police, but I think I’m safe._

_The day after we met, I found you here, on this swingset. I’d gone home the day before and told my mom I made a friend, and the smile on her face made me swell with pride. Making friends was hard for me. You were cool and funny, and you seemed to like me. I thought I’d won the lottery._

_When recess came, I found you on the swings, and I waited my turn because Brenda Reed was in the swing next to you. I wanted her to get off so I could swing by you, but when you saw me, you stopped, and you gave me your swing instead. I didn’t want to swing without you, though, so I asked if you wanted to go climb on the jungle gym. When you said yes, I’d won the lottery again. I hadn’t imagined it. You were my actual real life friend._

_Thank you for that._

_Always,_

_Link_

_Dear Rhett,_

_The first time we found our speaking rocks, we pretended they were placed there by some ancient civilization. It was a place for some high court, the judge sitting on the high rock while the accused sat quietly on the low rock awaiting sentencing. We played out the scene, but before the end of that first day, the place had taken on the rules it would come to stick to: the high rock was for speaking, the low one for listening. It was our place to dream, to vent, to process._

_You’ve always loved to talk. And I do too, don’t get me wrong. But you’re the idea man, always have been, and you always had so much to say that I would get antsy for my turn. I’d start to kick at your shoe when you’d been going on too long, and you’d suddenly remember your audience. You would stop and smile before standing and letting me take the high seat. But by then, half the time I’d forgotten what I wanted to say, so I’d just talk about whatever you’d been going on about. You loved it. It made me mad that you’d make me forget my own stories, but I got over it eventually. I love your stories. And my best ones are always about you anyway._

_It’s too quiet here now. I can hear the river rushing by, and that sound has always, always taken me back here, made me feel like home. But it’s not the same when your voice isn’t rising over the top of the sound. Even when it was high and light before it dropped into your chest, your voice carried over the water and filled this open space. This time I’m here alone, and it’s boring and stupid. It’s just a couple of stupid rocks. I miss you. Please tell me I’ll see you soon._

_Always,_

_Link_

_Dear Rhett,_

_I just got the kids tucked in and I’ve got time to write again. I don’t know why I’m bothering to write all these. It’s not like you’re going to read them all. It’s a dumb idea._

_I’m not in a hurry to leave. I suppose I should have expected that, but I’m not used to sitting still so I guess it surprised me that I’d be this reluctant. I just can’t bear the idea of not breathing this air. The ocean’s great, and I love California, but it’s so big, and so busy, and the smog...it’s not North Carolina. It’s not home, not in the same way as this will always be home. We’ve really managed to root ourselves in LA, but this is always going to be what we’re made of, right here._

_We’re staying at my mom’s, but Christy asked if she could cook tonight. I think for her part she needed to keep busy, and for my part she needed to help by making something feel normal. But what is normal anyway? My mama’s cooking is normal to me, even if that was never Christy’s normal. But Christy’s cooking, that’s normal too, so I’m not saying it didn’t help. She made something Mama wouldn’t make, something Californian -- grilled salmon with avocado salsa -- and it was normal in a weird sort of hybrid way, my old life and new finding a bridge on the dining room table where you and I used to do our homework together. But a good meal in a good place isn’t you. You’ve always been the bridge between the old and the new, so why the hell do I need another one? What’s the point, Rhett?_

_Well, I guess getting angry isn’t helping either of us. It was a good dinner in any event. You’d have liked it. Who am I kidding? If it’s not liver, you’d be in._

_Always,_

_Link_

_Dear Rhett,_

_We’re finally packing up to go. We were here so long I felt myself slowing down, back to a Southern Crawl instead of West Coast Manic. But let’s not fool ourselves: I was always high strung. That’s why I need you. You root me, both here and there._

_I’m not having this, Rhett. I’m not ready. I’ve been pissing and moaning all day, blaming it on everything but the obvious, and Christy is the greatest thing ever but she’s had it with me. So I’m out here on the back porch with my notebook, trying to get perspective. Never mind that there’s still so much to do. How did five people manage to spread so much stuff across my mom’s house in such a relatively short time? You’d think we’d been living here for months._

_How long has it been? I don’t even know anymore. Time seems to have stopped. But when I get back, I know that clock’s gonna start ticking again. There’s so much to do there, such bigger things than packing up my kids’ crap before our flight. There was always so much to do, but we managed it. The perfect balance, your bigger picture to my fine tuning, your baritone to my tenor. You have this way of using up all the oxygen in the room, but to your credit, it keeps me from spontaneously combusting. Now what? California is dry and hot, and what’s to keep me from bursting into flames now?_

_I can hear the boys fighting inside. There are three women in there who can probably all handle it better than me, but I suppose I should stop sulking and get back to my family. It’s been rough on all of us._

_Always,_

_Link_

_Dear Rhett,_

_I’m sorry I haven’t written lately. It’s been non-stop go go go since we got back, and none of it really makes any sense to me, but it has to be done, right? If I don’t do it, who will?_

_Christy asked today how long I was going to do this for, this writing you letters. She wants me to see a therapist, and I suppose it’s a good idea, but it’s easier this way. It’s easier to just write to you. It helps me, picturing you stepping out to the mailbox, smiling when you see my handwriting on the envelope, tearing it open and reading the letter through twice. You might even think about writing back one of these days._

_Don’t blame her though; she means it in the gentlest way. But they can’t all walk on eggshells around me forever, you know? I don’t want them to. At least I don’t think I do._

_And listen, don’t worry. I may not be seeing a therapist yet, but I still know reality when I see it. I know that it was a shit thing you did, leaving me like that. It was a shit thing you did, not waiting up for me just because I had a stupid appointment. Don’t you care about the environment, Rhett? Don’t you think carpooling is important enough that you could have just waited a little? That way I could have been there with you. I could have fucking been there with you, Rhett._

_Dear Rhett,_

_I’m sorry it’s been so long since I’ve written. Four months passed and I barely saw it happen. I looked back at the last letter and saw that I never even signed it off. Not that you wouldn’t have known who wrote it. I just got mad. I threw the notebook in a drawer and haven’t looked at it since. I’m sorry._

_I’m sorry about all of it. You know I’m not legitimately mad at you, because that would be stupid. It’s not your fault. How could it have been your fault?_

_I’m sorry our last conversation was about business. Building our empire became so all-consuming, and I know we tried to make time for us, just us, with no family or business or anything, but sometimes I think we forgot who we were apart from those things. It's like a married couple going on a date and not being able to think of anything to talk about but the kids. Who were we apart from the lives we'd built?_

_Remember back home when we used to just drive? We'd just hop in the car and take off to nowhere, singing to the radio and letting the wind whip around us. I think that was who we were, Rhett. Before wives and kids and careers and fame, that was us. Two boys from the south with a blood oath and a dream. That was the real Rhett and Link._

_I haven’t been back home since your funeral. I’m scared that if I go, I’ll never be able to leave. Everything there is about you. The wind and the river and the sky, the dirt roads and the fireflies at night._

_The problem is that everything here is about you too. You’re in the ocean and the desert and the bustle and noise of the city. How am I supposed to live without you when you touched everything in the world?_

_Christy asked me a few weeks ago if I would change anything if I could go back. Part of me wanted to say yes, the part of me that’s crushed and can’t stop hurting even when I’m asleep, even when I’m dreaming about you, your stupid face still smiling down at me. That part of me wishes I could go back and ignore you on the playground the day after we met, to convince myself it was a fluke and you didn’t really like me at all, that you only talked to me because we were in trouble together and there was no one else to talk to. I could have lived my life without loving you, Rhett, and I wouldn’t be hurting like I am now._

_But what would I have been if I hadn’t known you? God, it hurts, bo, but I know for a fact that I would take all this pain a thousand times over for one more day with you. And we had ten thousand days. How could I ever trade that away simply to have a whole heart again?_

_So, no. I wouldn’t change a thing._

_We miss you, Rhett. Your family misses you. My family misses you. Millions of people miss you. And maybe I’m selfish, but no one’s ever gonna convince me that I don’t miss you the most._

_I love you._

_Always,_

_Link_

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry, guys. I'm so, so sorry.
> 
> ETA: Here's what I figured. The guys have known each other just over 12,000 days now, but I rounded down to 10k because I was focusing on the days spent together. I figured that over the years, a certain portion of their days were spent apart, weekends and whatnot, but most days they see each other. So I thought 10,000 was a reasonable guess as to how many days they've actually spent together, not just how long they've known each other in total. Cool? Cool. :)


End file.
